


Caring for the Professor

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Caring, Drunkenness, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty is very drunk, Moran is long-suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caring for the Professor

    Moriarty is on the hunt, stalking through the trees in search of his target, and Moran is just about at the end of his tether. The most dangerous man in London in a bad mood he can tolerate but the most dangerous man in London pissed as a newt is another matter entirely, and the crafty bastard gave him the slip when he tried to load him into a cab to get him home. Now he’s pursuing Moriarty through the darkness, desperately trying to keep up with the surprisingly nimble drunken professor and shut him up before some irate park-keeper finds them.

    Tracking Moriarty’s path is not however overly difficult due to the stream of cooing noises coming from between the professor’s lips, that and the not infrequent calls of, “Here, pigeon pigeon pigeon!”

    “Professor!” Moran calls, finally managing to catch up with him. “Professor, it’s two o’clock in the morning, I don’t think there are any pigeons around at this hour.”

    Moriarty studies him for a moment whilst swaying slightly, disappointment written across his face. “No pigeons?”

    “They’ll have gone to roost somewhere, I expect, so we should really get you-”

    Moriarty ducks away from Moran before the exasperated colonel can manage to catch hold of his arm. “Moran,” he says, striding off through the trees again, “what is that piece of music called, by that man?”

   “I don’t know sir, it would help it you were slightly more specific.”

   “Yes you know, of course you do! It’s by that chappy with the sideburns! It goes ba-BOOM, ba-BOOM, beedley-beedley-beedley-beedley.” Moriarty halts, turns to regard Moran and waves his fingers in the air rather like seaweed fronds waving in the ocean currents.

   “I’m afraid I don’t know sir,” Moran says, trying to gently take the professor’s arm once more.

   “Beedley-beedley-beedley-beedley,” Moriarty says insistently, still waving his fingers in front of Moran’s rather blank face. “Oh for goodness’ sake, Moran, what am I paying you for?”

   “To organise lesser criminals and to kill people, sir.”

    “Hmm… well…” Moriarty takes a step forward and falls over. “Moran,” he says, lying there face down in the grass. “I’ve fallen over.”

    “I’ll get you up, Professor, we need to get you home and-”

    “Tucked up in bed.”

    “Yes sir, tucked up in bed.” Moran manages to manoeuvre Moriarty into a half-standing position.

    “Perhaps I might have a little nightcap first though,” Moriarty remarks, oblivious to the fact that while Moran was trying to assist him he has somehow managed to elbow the colonel in the groin, leaving Moran gasping. “Just a wee drinkie-poo before beddy-byes, hmm?” He dissolves into giggles and slips further from Moran’s hold. 

    “I think… you’ve had more than enough, Professor,” Moran says through his pained grimacing.

    “More than enough?” Moriarty straightens and stares at Moran. “Not even one more drinkie-poo?” He looks disconsolate at this thought.

    “No sir, I think it’d be best if-”

    “Oh pish-posh, Sebastian, I am a grown man, I can handle my drinkie-poos.” Moriarty begins to stride purposely away once more, although by grasping his arm Moran manages to turn him around in the opposite direction so he is heading for the fence they scaled earlier to get into the park.

    By the fence, as Moran is about to wonder how precisely to get Moriarty back over it if he doesn’t want to go over, Moriarty turns to him and says, “Moran!”

    “Yes sir?”

    “You are very lovely, Moran.”

    “Thank you sir.”

    “What an interesting face you have.” Moriarty places his palm squarely over Moran’s face. “Fascinating, really utterly fascinating, these cheekbones... exquisite.”

    “Thank you sir,” Moran says, although it’s muffled by the professor’s hand. In truth though he is rather concerned that Moriarty may take it into his mind to try to dissect his head to get a better look at his bone structure. He’ll have to be sure to keep the professor away from cutlery for a while.

    “Moran.” Moriarty stumbles away and sits down heavily at the foot of the fence.

    “Yes sir?”

    “You’re certain there are no pigeons?”

    “Not tonight. Perhaps if we come back tomorrow when it’s light we-”

    “We must wait here until it’s light then!”

    Moran barely stifles a groan. “But… Professor… we _have_ to go home.”

     Moriarty narrows his eyes as he tries to discern why this is so. “Hmm?”

    Moran frantically scrabbles for a compelling reason – something better than _‘I’m bloody cold and miserable and sick of this and I want to go to sleep’_ ; something that will convince the professor. “We… We, er, well we need to get some bird-seed,” he concludes finally. “You can’t wait about for pigeons and then not give them any seed so… we need to go home first to get some.”

    “Hmm.” Moriarty ponders this for a while, beginning to slap down his pockets in the hope of locating some bird-seed in some of them. “Well I do appear to be all out of bird-seed so, you are correct, Moran, home!” He stands up and marches triumphantly forward.

    “This way, sir.” Moran steers him back towards the fence again. “Up here, like that, up you go.”

    While being half helped and half unceremoniously shoved over the fence, Moriarty turns and peers down at Moran. “Sebastian, are you ogling my arse?” he asks.

    Moriarty’s backside (as attractive as it is) is the very last thing on Moran’s mind currently, but he simply answers wearily, “Yes Professor.” It’s easier than arguing.

    “And so you should be.” Cackling to himself, Moriarty disappears over the fence and lands heavily on the other side.

    Moran pulls himself up over the fence. As he climbs over the top he wonders if Moriarty has finally passed out. If so this could be a great relief to him, despite the problems of trying to move an unconscious Moriarty. But no, just as he is about to drop to the ground beside the professor, Moriarty begins to gently wave his fingers in the air once again whilst softly chanting:

     _“Beedley-beedley-beedley-beedley.”_

   Moran sighs loudly.

**Author's Note:**

> Some random little thing I found in my miscellaneous/unfinished fics file.


End file.
